The FACE Family Feels A Little Jumpy
by grammarphail93
Summary: A series of oneshots centered around members of the FACE family. Each one is based off a poem from the book "I Feel A Little Jumpy Around You" by Naomi Shihab Nye and Paul B. Janeczko. T because I'm not sure where some of them are going yet.


**AN: So this is what started this project. For some reason I read this poem and thought, "Hey! FACE family!"**

**Disclaimer: I own nothing, not even the poems.**

**Summary: Before they gained their independence, before they were Canada and the United States of America, they were just Alfred and Matthew, colonies in the New World and adopted sons of Francis and Arthur. **

0o0o0o0

_**Sunday morning**_

_**while the Earth**_

_**arches below the sun**_

Alfred squirmed in his itchy, stiff, uncomfortable church clothes as he sat in the pew. Looking to his left, he saw Matthew, sitting still and paying attention like a good little boy with Papa at the end, looking almost as bored as Alfred felt. Of course, he was able to sit still, but his eyes roamed all around the room as the minister droned on. The little boy was jolted out of his observation by a sharp pinch on the ear. Looking at Father, he gave an embarrassed smile in return for the reproachful glance leveled at him. When Arthur and Francis finally took them home, he all but ran to get to the Sunday dinner he knew would soon be on the table.

_**Mother washes dinner dishes **_

_**clanging silver spoons**_

_**as father pulls**_

_**nickels from our ears**_

Francis, who doesn't trust Arthur in his precious kitchen for any reason, is cleaning up and Arthur can hear the occasional soft clink of dishes and utensils as they're washed, dried, and put away. To keep the boys occupied until the rain outside lets up, he's doing magic tricks. Keeping them simple, he levitates small items, makes others disappear, and pulls little coins from behind their ears. He smiles as he watches his fairy friends help him perform for the entertainment of his little ones.

_**There is really magic **_

_**in my head**_

_**and the ringing of silver **_

_**reminds me of **_

_**ice cream trucks**_

_**in the summer**_

As he marvels at Father's magic, Matthew hears Papa in the kitchen as well, but then he hears something else. There is a jingling outside that signals what he and his brother call "the Wagon Man". This man is what the name suggests. Every week, he goes around to the houses on the far edges of town, like the one Matthew and his family lives in, and makes deliveries from the shops in town and takes orders for the next week. It's the same job his father and grandfather have done, and they have always taken pride in being trustworthy and reliable with their work. What excites Matthew about his visits, though, is that he always has candies, usually peppermints or pieces of rock candy, which he handed out to the children of the houses he visited. He grabbed the list Father and Papa had written over the week and ran out to meet the Wagon Man with Alfred.

_**Mother demands**_

_**that we stop these games**_

_**and calls our father **_

_**a fool.**_

Francis moves to the doorway with Arthur to watch their boys. The children made sure to give the man the list and said their "please" and "thank yous" when getting their candy. For a moment, he just enjoyed the gentle smile that was so rarely seen on the Brit's face, and then he broke the silence.

"_Angleterre_, aren't they getting to be a little old for magic and fairytales?"

"Perhaps, but they will have to grow up soon enough and besides, one is never too old for magic."

"Ah, I forgot about your imaginary friends."

That earned him a halfhearted glare and a smack to the side. "They are not imaginary and you know it, Frog!" Arthur sighed, "I just want them to enjoy it while they're still able to believe. You must think I'm a sentimental fool."

"_Oui_, but you are my sentimental fool, _mon_ _cher._"

As predicted, Arthur flushed scarlet and began the usual playful argument that such statements caused and the house was filled with the sounds of their banter and of small feet pattering around the house followed by giggles of delight.

0o0o0o0

**AN: So I hope you enjoyed the fluff (especially because it's my first shot at it). Also some minor hints of FrUK if you squint and turn your head. The poem is called "Sunday" by B. Vincent Hernandez.**

**Also, I'm looking for a cover for this story, so you artistic readers PM me if you would be interested. There might be a oneshot prize in it for you (winkwink nudgenudge).**

**REVIEW**


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